The Little Things

The Little Things

Can someone please explain to me how it was possible that I was pregnant for 8 thousand years, but all of a sudden, my baby is now past the four month mark in less than 3.4 seconds? I don't even think I have my hospital bag unpacked yet and I am still getting doctor bills leftover from his birth on a weekly basis. They must have discovered that extra box of Kleenex I used during my baby-cation. I can kind of see Michelle Duggar's strategy here. At least once a year, for the past 18 years, she gets to stay several nights away from home, doesn't cook or clean, has people waiting on her hand and foot and gets to lay around and be doted over. All because she had a baby. I mean, it's a small price to pay for at least 3 days of lounging. Plus, she has those other kids waiting around with nothing better to do than take care of all the new ones. Everybody wins. 

Paula Courtney Brown

The Little Things

Paula Courtney Brown

"There's a special place in heaven for mothers of boys."  You've heard that, right? If by "special place" they mean a place kind of like Fiji and there's a cabana boy and an endless supply of margaritas then consider me saved. Sign me up. I'm in. I deserve it. Bring on the paradise. What people don't seem to realize is that I already have a special place. It's usually on the staircase that is right next to the garage door. And every so often, when my husband gets home from work, I'm sitting on it in a zombie trance. He walks in. Looks at me. I start crying. He hands me a beer, takes the kids far, far away (upstairs) and I am left alone in my "special place". I'm just kidding. That has only happened once or twice...half a dozen max. 

The Little Things

Paula Courtney Brown

2010? Really? Where does the time go? I suspect it is in hiding along with my sanity, sleep, ability to fit in my clothes and the fairy that was supposed to come de-Christmas my house, just to name a few things I can't find. I seem to have been assigned a deadbeat fairy. She is so fired, right along with my good-for-nothing maid.

The Little Things

Paula Courtney Brown

My house isn't exactly what you would consider "calm". Ever. Except for maybe in the middle of the night on the rare occasions that we're all asleep, after the baby has been up  a few times but before the Christmas tree falls. (Or the alarm sets itself off or the phone rings or the husband and/or dog start an epic snoring fit or the occasional dream-fight where I get punched in the face or...)  Maybe then it's calm. But besides that, nope...definitely not.